Take On Anyone
by Demeleka
Summary: [Marcus/Harry] Marcus is quick to anger, especially around young, little Gryffindors.


Title: Take on Anyone  
  
Author: demeleka  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Pairing: Marcus/Harry  
  
Disclaimer: Made it all up.  
  
A/N: Written for a timed challenge (30 mins.).  
  
It started with a shove.   
  
One day, outside the Great Hall after dinner, he sees him there all alone, unsuspecting and naive like the Gryffindor he is. Marcus, never missing a chance to patronize the younger years, especially the stupid Gryffindor ones, stalks over to where Potter is waiting for the other prats he always hangs around.   
  
"So, Scarhead, think you'll beat us this year at Quidditch, do you?" Marcus asks with contempt of the not so well hidden variety that he is well known for.   
  
Potter looks up, unaffected, and scans Marcus' eyes before replying. "All you Slytherins really are alike. I get that insult from Malfoy all the time," he says easily, looking around feigning boredom.  
  
Being the easily provoked type, Marcus takes offense to this. "So, I'm not original enough for you," he grounds out as he advances on Potter. "All Slytherins alike, eh?" he spits as he pushes Potter back against the wall looking every bit the domineering dumb jock that he most likely is. He reaches down and grips Potter's shoulder roughly, slamming him into the hard, cold stone behind him. Potter's head rolls back and hits the wall with a sick crack.   
  
Harry winces as his skull thuds the wall. He knows that when he goes to lie down to sleep tonight there will probably be a nasty bump on the back of his head. Maybe I'll name it Flint he thinks absentmindedly as he is shoved back harder.   
  
Marcus hates not being in control. Yes, he's lost his temper quite regularly, but that doesn't mean he likes doing it. He hates showing emotion in front of those that are supposed to be weaker than him even more. Potter needs to be punished for goading him like this.  
  
Harry realizes that he is only going to end up with a whole lot more bruises and a little less dignity if he doesn't do something about the situation. Soon. He looks into Flint's face, almost as if seeing him for the first time. He has nice strong features, just like his personality. He's in Slytherin; Harry figures you have to strong to survive there. And hell if he doesn't have god awful teeth, but it's the little flaws like this that give character to one's appearance. Harry knows all about that. He thinks about his own noticeable facial features. The scar in particular. Yeah, that's his equivalent to the teeth.   
  
He's still being pushed against a wall fairly forcefully, so he does the only thing he can think of at the moment. He pushes back. He pushes back as hard as his wiry, little body can.   
  
Marcus stops cold. He hasn't expected the little git to fight back.   
  
"What the fuck do you think you're doing Potter?" Marcus hisses as Potter's hip connects with his.  
  
"What's it feel like Flint?" Harry says as he grinds into him again.   
  
The little shit is getting off on this Marcus thinks a split-second before realizing that he is too. He arches into him almost on instinct and Potter sets a low pace. Marcus feels his face flush with arousal. His mind justifies it. It's embarrassment, or perhaps shame. Marcus doesn't care. He's too far gone to care who it is writhing beneath him. Precious, scarfaced, righteous savior of the world or not.   
  
He leans into the younger boy's warmth now and bucks against him. He groans out Potter's name, or at least he thinks that's what he said.  
  
Harry knows he's close. He's holding off his own orgasm fairly well he thinks. As soon as he hears the other boy squeak out his name, he shoves him away as hard as he can.  
  
Marcus, not expecting the sudden push, falls gracelessly backwards onto the cobblestone floor.   
  
"What the fuck was that for?" he asks hotly, feeling even more ashamed of himself now. He hates emotions; he really does.  
  
Harry leans over him and studies him quietly for a moment. He reaches out a hand, and gently runs a finger down the side of Marcus' sweaty face.   
  
"Yes, Flint, I think we'll beat you at Quidditch this year," he speaks softly. Withdrawing his hand, he turns around and begins to walk away. He's a few steps away before he turns back to the stunned boy on the floor and adds, "Among other things."  
  
fin. 


End file.
